22 minutes ago
My Lolo, who died about 7 years ago, took this image. Recently, I’ve been going through his old photographs and realizing how obsessed he was with photographing flowers. I share a similar obsession, and sometimes I like to think I got some of my sensitivities for seeing from him. He was a Scorpio. A quiet man. The one obnoxiously sitting in a corner at a party, or watching tv alone. He could be harsh and cold at times, a real patriarch pain in the ass. •
Born in the early 1930’s in Cebu, an accountant by nature. He wasn’t a sensational man by any means, but I loved him. Since my parents were divorced and didn’t have a lot of money, if my dad couldn’t drive the 90 miles from Detroit to East Lansing to pick me up for the weekend, he would be there waiting for me. He’d also have good snacks with him that Lola probably made/cooked, wrapped up in napkins and in a plastic bag. I couldn’t talk to him about shit really, but he cared for me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how complex my relationship is to my family. My family of origin is not one thing, and don’t feel just one way about them. I think I used to want the people that raised me to be simple and easy, but these days I think I’m more invested in exploring and understanding the truth. Even if it means feeling disappointed, angry or sad.